


One Year Wiser

by LandOfMistAndSecrets



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Meteorstuck, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6631759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/pseuds/LandOfMistAndSecrets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat POV. Extremely self-indulgent meteor PWP. I wanted to write something sickeningly sweet for today, exactly one year since DaveKat was confirmed in canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year Wiser

Sometimes, Karkat still wakes up confused. 

It's been more than a sweep since Aradia threw him ass-backwards onto this meteor and Sollux sent them blasting off through the furthest ring at light-speed. Almost a full sweep and a half, actually, which means the session they've been screaming toward is right around the corner, now, and _still_ there are times when Karkat's limbs jerk to life in the chilly, stale, vaguely metallic-tasting air and his thinkpan short-circuits, panic stuttering his pathetic pump biscuit. He should be safe and warm, suspended in his recuperacoon like a proper fucking troll, blinking into hazy green. Where is this? _When_ is this? Fuck, is he actually fucking _drooling_ in his sleep like an idiot wiggler, curled up against his lusus like -- like -- 

It's not his lusus he's curled up with, of course. His lusus is dead and he's hurtling toward certain death on a god forsaken spacerock. Right. He rolls over, runs his hands over his face, rubs his eyes and struggles to even out his breathing. The fucking dream bubbles. Sometimes he _knows_ he's dreaming; it's hard not to realize when he's being accosted all the barf-shitting time by dead trolls, dead humans, dead friends, dead supposed-ancestors that he still has no idea what to make of. But sometimes... sometimes he's just him, in his own bubble, his own dream, and apparently he hasn't been feeling extra fucking creative lately because those dreams are weirdly mundane. Him in his hive, doing all the shit he used to do before the game. It's nostalgic. Also, nauseating. As frightening as contemplating what awaits them in the new session is, it's a guttering tallow wick against what he's since realized was a blazing fuckflame of terror lit directly under his ass every second of every day on Alternia. 

He blinks into the dim light of his block, feeling exceedingly moronic for the fact that he has never lived a day in his life without some kind of fear gnawing holes in his gastric sack, and boring domestic dreams that would be comforting to any sane sentient being make him wake up in cold sweats. 

Dave shifts his body, half beneath and half beside him, mumbling into the cushions. His stupid god pajamas have a dark damning wet spot on them near the shoulder; Karkat sighs. He was definitely drooling. The things are _supposedly_ self cleaning or whatever so who fucking cares, but Dave always gives him shit for this, even when he does it too. It's maddening. The husktop is paused on the scrolling credits of whatever movie he fell asleep after last night, and as a sole source of light it's only just adequate, outlining Dave's features in pale, washed-out relief. 

This isn't even comfortable. They do this all the time, falling asleep tangled up on the fucking couch because once _again_ it's gotten late and every time Karkat thinks about actually inviting Dave to crawl into a proper fucking pile with him it always sounds horrifyingly _forward_ , and besides, what if he said no? Oh god. Just thinking about it makes every part of his internal anatomy undergo a spastic shame seizure. Dave never asks him to go back to his block, either. This is both disappointing because his truly fucking impressive reserves of self-loathing can hatch up a thousand shitty reasons for it, each more scathing and self-skewering than the last... but also a relief, because left to his own devices Dave sleeps on a concupiscent platform and just the thought of snuggling up with him on that makes him want to anxiety puke. 

Not that he doesn't think about doing it constantly anyway. 

He has no idea what time it is, but he is suddenly very much aware that he needs to relieve himself immediately, or Dave is going to have to worry about something even less appealing than troll spit soaking into his pjs. Dave grumbles some more as Karkat shifts and struggles to disentangle their limbs -- god, they're pathetic, there is nowhere near enough room for this on this shitty couch -- and flops out over him into sweet freedom. Well, not really sweet. It's cold.

It's even colder in the ablution block, metal tiles stinging against the bare pads of his feet. It's probably not a good idea to walk around barefoot; this floor is probably filthy. Too late now. By the time he's finished and stumbling back to his block he's actually shivering, and very much looking forward to crawling back onto the completely inadequate couch and maybe snuggling under Dave's stupid soft cape. He makes fun of him for that, too. It's worth it. 

Unfortunately, Dave is sitting up waiting for him when he gets there. Well, not completely unfortunately. Dave is wearing a sleep-addled little smile and hasn't put his shades back on, yet, and Karkat will gladly take in what he can of that expression before wakefulness robs Dave of the ability to emote. 

"Hey," Dave says, while the door slides shut with a mechanical little zip. 

"Good morning? Evening? Fuck, I don't even know," Karkat grumbles, pausing in the doorway. His block here isn't even that big, but it feels absolutely cavernous all of a sudden as he fidgets in place, wondering if Dave wants him to rejoin him on the couch. Fuck. They've been "officially" doing this human-dating experiment for half a sweep now and most of the time he still feels like they only had that awkward steaming buggy-wreck of a conversation just yesterday. Fuck, just looking at him like this makes his mouth go dry. It's sickening how affected he is just by Dave _looking_ at him in a nebulously affectionate way. 

"I could tell you," Dave says, stretching his arms over his head and speaking through a yawn, "but nah. Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if we're the only ones up." He shrugs. "Or maybe not. I don't really know what hours people around here keep, lately." 

"Sorry," Karkat says, still standing there, stupidly. Dave tilts his head. 

"For what?" 

"Uh, waking you up? Obviously." 

"Oh. Whatever. It's fine. Probably for the best, actually. I think I was about to get into some major shenanigans with some dream nakkodiles, there, which I didn't even know those existed, and I kind of wish I still didn't? Naks, man, they are some vicious shit. Especially when they're shaking you down for the billions of boonbucks you _maybe_ pretty much stole from --" 

"Dave." At least he's not mentioning the drool. 

"Hey, are you going to come over here, or what?" He pats the spot on the couch next to him. "I mean, if you want to stand there looking all dopey forever, that's fine too, but this cushion is like, bonded to your ass, now. It's lonely. Look at those grooves, Karkat, they're perfectly molded to cradle your plush posterior." He winces. "Perfect. Not plush. Look, forget I said that. You're not a smuppet. Thank god." 

"Lucky for you, I've already flushed that torrent of nonsense down the mental gaper into the cold abyss of forgotten bullshit I'll definitely never think about again." It's embarrassing how his nonsensical word vomit makes unmistakable fondness flutter around in all his traitorous emotion centers, but that doesn't mean he doesn't _also_ want to push him over and kiss him until he stops spouting off inane babble -- ideally, until he forgets how to string words into sentences at all. Wait, fuck. That's embarrassing, too. God dammit. 

Karkat flops onto the couch, hoping the light isn't sufficient enough for Dave's inferior human eyes to notice his cheeks darkening, because he can _feel_ the blood rushing up and for fuck's sake, he used to be so much better at controlling his own bodily reactions than this. He had to be! Blushing like this back on Alternia could have literally gotten him killed, one look at his stupid candy-red cheeks, no one would ever mistake that color for proper rustblood. Maybe it was a blessing he'd never had feelings like this for anyone before the game, as lonely as it had made him feel. 

He definitely doesn't feel lonely anymore, with Dave looking down at him so fucking appreciatively. At least, he hopes it's appreciative. 

"Happy now?" Karkat grumbles, injecting a challenge into his tone because he's feeling weirdly vulnerable, and that makes him defensive. 

"I don't know if I'd go that far, but it's a step in the right direction," Dave replies. But of course, he doesn't actually move, doesn't so much as twitch a limb in Karkat's general direction, he just keeps _looking_ at him like that. This is the type of shit that leads to them sleeping on couches together nine nights out of ten, this ridiculous insecure refusal to _make a move_ despite _knowing_ the other one is willing. Karkat lifts his hands and covers his face, exhaling noisily through his fingers. His face is still on fire. This is the worst. 

Dave's expression falters a bit, his eyebrows pulling down, his voice losing some of that lilting, teasing charm when he asks, "Everything all right?" And haha, just kidding, that other thing wasn't the worst, _this_ is the worst, this is the new worst. 

"How long have we been together?" Karkat asks, still covering his face. 

"Uh." 

Karkat drops his hands, blinking incredulously up at him. "You don't _know_?" 

"No -- I mean, yes! I know exactly how long we've... Karkat, please, I am an actual _god_ of time. I don't lose track of this shit. Did you really think I'd forget?" 

"You just seemed startled by the question. Like, in the stalling for time because you don't know how to answer sort of way." 

"I didn't expect to get hit with this first thing, all right? Though, knowing you, maybe I should have." He grins, again, some of the tension draining out of him, and Karkat narrows his eyes. It feels like this conversation is slipping away from him, though he isn't sure how. "I've got plans, don't worry." 

"Plans?" Karkat asks, blankly. "For what? What exactly are we talking about, right now?" 

Dave studies him, and Karkat suddenly feels very, very nervous. 

"Are you telling me that _you_ don't know? Karkat, I am _appalled._ " Dave waggles his eyebrows in a way that never heralds anything good tumbling out from between his distracting lips next. "You being the _expert_ on romance and all, the king of cuddling, the monarch of making out, the denizen of dating --" 

"Jesus Christ," Karkat slaps his hands back over his face, "I fucking hate you." 

"But in a sexy way, right?" 

" _No._ " 

"Yeah right. You know how long we've been dating, Karkat? _Exactly_ one year, that's how long. To the day. Well, barely, today's still pretty young, all things considered, but it counts." 

Karkat frowns up at him. "Oh." 

"Oh? _Oh?_ That's it?" Dave crosses his arms, trying his best to look nonplussed, but it's easy to tell -- especially when he doesn't have his shades on -- that he's amused as shit. Karkat squirms in his seat. "Hold on, hold it, hold the _fuck_ up." 

"What?"

"You forget our actual _anniversary_ , this whole big milestone thing I've been counting days down to and practically having nightmares about forgetting on account of being pretty sure you'd flay me a new asshole if I did, and it's just _oh?_ No way. This is huge. I get to do the flaying, here, now, it's only fair." 

"Dave, for fuck's sake. Why would I give a single shit about the bizarre, nonsensical human timeline of our relationship?" 

And just like that, Dave's face falls, goes from shining and animated to flat and hollow in an instant, and Karkat's stomach does a little twist. He plays back the words he just said -- oh, fuck, that was shitty, why is he always so _shitty_ , especially when he gets defensive of Alternian culture? Alternian culture fucking sucked, why does he always feel so _obligated_ to act like this? And why did he have to say it like that? Snapping it at him, practically sneering, he is such a thoughtless piece of shit. Karkat opens his mouth to say all of that, or at least some of it, but Dave is already talking. 

"I, uh, I just thought -- or maybe I didn't think? You're right. I didn't even... like, what is a year to a troll, just a meaningless fraction of a sweep, or whatever, so yeah, I. Never mind." He stands up, abruptly. "Sorry. I suck at this whole cultural sensitivity shit, I guess, always have. I'm kind of feeling really fucking embarrassed right now, so I think I'm just gonna go ahead and go--" 

"Wait, no. Fuck, no, please don't." Karkat reaches out, grabs his wrist before he can abscond in that irritating, blurry-fast way he does which undoubtedly involves some sort of time fuckery because no one should be that fast. "Dave, I'm sorry." 

"You don't need to apologize to me, dude, I'm the one who fucked up," he says. He's motionless for the moment.

"You didn't fuck up!" The more he thinks about it, the more he is utterly, gob-smackingly horrified at what just happened. Dave just made possibly the _most_ romantic gesture he ever has throughout all these nice-but-awkward perigees blundering through sweaty dates and sweatier couch-cuddle sessions, and in his stupid fucking neurotic need to always have the upper hand in a conversation, Karkat had not only snubbed the gesture but also swatted it back in his face. Like it meant nothing. Like it was actively _offensive._ Oh my fucking _god,_ what made him think he even deserved a matesprit? Boyfriend. Whatever they were? 

Dave is fidgeting, now, as Karkat completes his mental self-loathing reacharound, but he doesn't speak. He just stands there, shifting from one foot to the other, waiting.

" _I_ fucked up, OK? I didn't mean to -- it's actually really nice that you'd even think of that." Karkat's cheeks are warming up, again. Fuck. "I just freaked out. I don't like feeling lost in a conversation, like I'm ten steps behind with no chance to catch up, and then it sounded like you were saying I messed something up and I just get really stupidly -- fucking -- defensive, all right?" 

"All right," Dave says, but he still doesn't move. 

Karkat gives his wrist a little tug, pulling him back toward the couch. "I really want you to stay," he says, and it has to be one of the most embarrassing sentences he's ever strung together aloud, not to mention the way it comes out, way too soft and thoroughly pathetic. He is a disaster. A needy fucking heap of garbage. But Dave reacts to that, at least, nodding slowly and stepping backward so the backs of his legs hit the couch and he tumbles down beside him. 

"Cool," he says. He reaches up with one hand, presumably to mess with his shades, realizes they aren't there, and the way his eyes widen at that revelation would be hilarious in any other circumstance. He glances at the side table, but doesn't move to grab them. "I kinda freaked out, too." 

"That's sort of our thing," Karkat says. 

"If it wasn't about that... uh, the whole one year thing. What were you even asking me for?" Dave's eyebrows have pulled down, some, and he's chewing his lip the way he sometimes does when something is bothering him. 

"Oh. Um." It had seemed so innocent, at the time. Well, no. Definitely not innocent, but well-meaning? "I was just going to make a point." 

"Obviously, but what about?" 

"I'm not really sure it's appropriate now? I mean..." 

Dave's eyebrows shoot up. "Now I have to hear it," he insists. "Come on, Karkat, don't be like that. What's this inappropriate point you were trying to make? What kind of inappropriate?" He waggles his brows. Fuck, his eyes are so expressive when he isn't hiding them behind an opaque wall of douche plastic. "I hope it's the hella lewd kind, something you picked up out of one of those trashy books, maybe --" 

"I was _going_ to make fun of us for the fact that we've been together for half a -- no, actually, I guess one full human year and it still takes us like an hour of dancing around each other minimum before one of us actually _touches_ the other, let alone initiates anything -- uh, else, and -- you know what?" Karkat runs an exasperated hand through his tangled nest of hair and looks up into Dave's blinking face, suddenly determined. "Fuck it," he mumbles, and before he can lose conviction he leans over, puts his hands on Dave's bony goddamned shoulders and pushes him backward. The angle is awkward, so it doesn't work quite as smoothly as he'd like -- when does it fucking ever -- but Dave gets the idea and seems mostly amenable, thank fucking God. He's pretty sure he'd die on the spot if Dave pushed him away now. Just melt into a pathetic puddle of shame fluid with a side of regret sauce and expel himself through the drains off the meteor and into the sweet embrace of eternal solitude in the depths of space.

Dave doesn't push him away. 

"Whoa," he says instead, letting himself be maneuvered onto his back, head smacking into the armrest with an audible _poff._ Karkat crawls over him, blood pounding in his ears, some part of his overtaxed thinkpan griping in the distance about how unwieldy this is on this goddamn stupid tiny fucking couch, but he tightens his jaw and shuts that out and concentrates on making this work, instead. There's just enough room to get his knees on either side of Dave's body, ass resting on the front of Dave's jutting knees. Good enough. Karkat leans down on his forearms and feels the air stir against his lips when Dave sucks in a hitching little intake of breath, and then they're pressed together, finally, this is all he fucking wanted. Well, maybe not _all_ , but -- Why does there always have to be so much fucking drama when it's so easy, once they've started? 

Dave's arms come up and wrap around him, and it's stupid how _that_ makes his heart lurch like a sopor-addled idiot. Kissing is one thing, kissing can mean so many things, not all of them very romantic, but _holding_ him while they do it is -- fuck, god dammit, he needs to focus. Even though Dave has his hands fisting up in his sweater and he's not resisting at all when Karkat opens his mouth against his, tentatively, asking permission before he lets his tongue go on tour. He gets it immediately, enthusiastically, Dave humming assent into his mouth -- it sounds vaguely like "mm hmm," -- and then Karkat is tasting him, licking gently past his ridiculous blunt-edged human teeth into the warmth and wet beyond. Dave tastes like stale buttered popcorn. It's far more appealing than it has any right to be. 

"Uh," he says, muffled between them, and Karkat breaks away reluctantly. 

"Yes, Dave?" Karkat responds impatiently, because there had been a pleasant haze settling over him, lending confidence to his actions, and if he lets it dissipate completely he's afraid he'll lose his nerve. 

"Don't take this the wrong way, because you know how I feel about couch makeouts, that is, I am absolutely down for couch makeouts literally every single time, but, uh, if... I mean, if you want..." 

Karkat's internal organs all squeeze painfully at once. Oh no. Oh god. Is this --? 

The silence is going to kill him.

"Just say it," Karkat says, letting his forehead fall against Dave's shoulder. Dave sucks in a breath, and if anything, his fingers twist the fabric of Karkat's sweater even tighter around them. 

"If you want to head back to my block, I've got like, an actual fucking bed, that, uh, sorry, no, just a bed, there doesn't have to be any fu--" 

Karkat jolts up and slaps a hand over his mouth, actually physically presses his fingers against the torrent of ridiculous words tumbling out of Dave's filthy squawk gaper, and glares down while Dave wheezes out nervous laughter against his hand. 

"Are you done," Karkat deadpans. His skin feels too hot, too tight over his bones. 

"We don't have to," Dave reassures him, still speaking through Karkat's fingers so his words come out muffled, only partially audible. 

"I didn't say I didn't want to," Karkat says, and Dave's eyes actually widen. It's endearing as shit, it does all sorts of embarrassing things to his insides. Is it possible to die of sheer nervous exhaustion? Probably. That would be a fitting end to Karkat Vantas, no doubt. 

"So," Dave says. 

"Uh," Karkat agrees, intelligently. He lifts his hand off Dave's mouth and studies it, because all of a sudden looking at Dave's eyes is a little too much. 

"So, like... do you want me to carry you?" Dave shifts beneath him, hands sliding from his back to grab two handfuls of his ass, and Karkat sits up, sputtering. Dave lets his hands fall to either side of them.

"What? No! No, no, no. Absolutely not! I can fucking walk--" 

"So we're definitely going?" 

Karkat exhales noisily. 

"...Yeah," he says. "I guess we are." 

Dave licks his lips. It's excruciating to watch. Karkat swallows. 

"I'll seriously carry you, dude, no shame. Flying is faster--" 

"We'll _walk,_ " Karkat says, sliding awkwardly off Dave, and the couch entirely, to his feet. His legs are a little wobbly, but it'll work. Dave's block isn't _that_ far off. Dave doesn't move for a second, and suddenly it is _entirely_ obvious why he doesn't want to walk his ass back to his block like a normal functioning two-legged creature. His flimsy fucking pajamas aren't hiding anything; they never have. Karkat averts his eyes with effort and hunches over, hands on his knees, to laugh at the floor. Dave grunts, swinging his legs around to sit with his feet on the floor, looking singularly pathetic. 

"I hope all the comforts offered by your concupiscent platform are worth it," Karkat teases him. He's feeling a little giddy at having affected Dave so much with so relatively little; it's nice to feel, well, wanted. It is cripplingly pathetic how good that makes him feel. 

"If we run into Rose on the way, I'm never leaving my room again," Dave says, mournfully. 

"That's fine by me, so long as I'm allowed in with you." Oh, fuck. He's not usually like this. The situation is affecting him more deeply than he thought. 

Dave waggles his eyebrows again, and then he's up -- discreetly tucking a certain part of himself into his own waistband, Karkat thinks, which actually does a pretty good job at hiding the evidence -- and suddenly the realization that they are about to go walk across the fucking meteor so they can more comfortably engage in certain flushed activities really _hits_ him, and he sways a little on his feet. Oh god. Oh fuck. What if he fucks something up? What if Dave changes his mind halfway there? What if they really do run into Rose on the way and Dave's human bulge never functions again? 

"You good?" Dave holds out a hand. Okay. Yes. Karkat takes it. 

"Let's go," he mumbles, not quite able to make eye contact. 

It's a long walk. There are hallways and transportalizers and rattling laboratories that make them jump like misbehaving wigglers whenever the machinery around them makes a noise. But Dave doesn't change his mind, and they don't run into anyone at all, least of all Rose. 

Dave's block is messy, strewn with clothes he never wears, cords plugged into various devices, wrappers for all kinds of alchemized junk food -- some from earth, some not -- and any other day Karkat would grumble about it, but right now he has Dave's hand in his and there's no room for anything in his awareness except the soft slab in the corner and the pile of blankets and sheets on top of it. Dave's _stupid_ fucking sheets, covered in quadrant symbols. All of them, too, not just the flushed kind. Oh, god. Don't think about flushed anything, right now, he tells himself, but it's far too late for that. 

Fuck, they're doing it again. They're just _standing_ here. The haze is gone and now someone has to make the first move, again, and fuck, why are they like this? Karkat chances a look up at Dave, who is squeezing his hand painfully hard. He is staring at the platform. Of course. 

He wants to be here, Karkat tells himself, studying his face. He wouldn't have walked all this way if he wasn't serious, and besides, they can stop any time. They don't _have_ to go any farther than they ever have before. The thought is calming, if a little disappointing. Karkat, at least, is pretty sure he wants to go farther. But they aren't going to go anywhere at all if someone doesn't get things started, so he sucks in a breath and takes a step forward and tugs Dave gently along behind him, hand in hand. Dave follows, thankfully. 

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," Karkat says, figuring if it helped him to think it, maybe it'll help Dave to hear it. Dave blinks at him, and then smiles. 

"I wouldn't worry about that," he says, a little breathlessly, and oh, wow, _that_ gets a reaction from Karkat's insides, setting them squirming with heat. Karkat steps closer to Dave and puts his free hand on Dave's hip and tilts his head up and kisses him, slow and sweet and full, he hopes, of promise. He's read all about kisses full of promise. Now is definitely the time for that sort of thing, he's pretty sure. 

It seems to have the intended effect, because Dave lets go of his hand and runs his hands up Karkat's sides, instead, sliding up his arms and over his shoulders until he's got the pads of his fingers pressed lightly into Karkat's hairline, and yeah, okay, that's nice. It's nothing new, but it's very, very nice. 

They sink down together in a mostly mutual decision spurred by a light push from Karkat, and Dave's bed isn't huge but it's a lot wider than the couch, so when he gets Dave down on his back they have to break apart to adjust. Dave lets out a little nervous laugh as he does so, wiggling his whole body so he shimmies backward into the blanket pile, which he pushes unceremoniously to the floor. Karkat follows him, actually _crawling_ after him, fuck, this is embarrassing and ridiculous, but then Dave is flopping his head against a featherbag and kind of half-holding out his arms, waiting for him to fall into them, and that gesture alone does more _things_ to his insides and his breath kind of catches a little as he crawls over him. And then, good, yes, Dave's arms are tight around him, and this time one hand is sliding up under the hem of his sweater to trace up the bare skin over the bumps of his posture pole. Karkat shivers and kisses him, thank God and human and troll Jesus both that they are finally kissing again, fuck. 

There's room to maneuver in, now, which was sort of the point. It's nice to be able to put his elbows down on either side of Dave without risking unbalancing himself and tumbling onto the floor, and even nicer to use this new stability to feather his fingers through Dave's ridiculously soft, thin human hair. Dave has both his hands under Karkat's sweater, now, sliding the hem up inch by agonizing inch, fingertips moving in little circles against his skin. It's maddening. He likes it. He wants to do the same to Dave, but his hair is so soft and his mouth is so warm and he's concentrating on coaxing more pleased little hums out of him with his tongue. In a moment shockingly free of his usual internal self-deprecating symphony, Karkat reflects that he's actually gotten pretty good at this part. They've done this a _lot_ over the past one whole human year, to the day. 

Dave's fingers are so light on his skin that they're threatening to tickle him, so Karkat reluctantly breaks their kiss, sits up, and grabs his wrists. Dave blinks up at him, licking his lips. 

"Hey?" Dave says, voice thick. God, he sounds so _affected._ It makes something bright and clean and _good_ burst in Karkat's chest -- the thought that Dave wants this so badly, wants _him_ so badly that he's actually kind of panting up at him in a daze. 

"Hey yourself," Karkat says, pinning Dave's wrists down on either side of his head. "And stop tickling me, asshole." 

Dave snorts. 

"I wasn't tickling," he insists, and he actually fucking bats his eyes, like that'll work. Karkat stares down at him, one brow raised. A few moments pass by, heartbeats shared between them. "God dammit, Karkat," Dave breathes. "Stop fucking around and get back down here, I'm fucking dying." 

That's better. Or at least, it makes him feel good, so he leans down and kisses him, long and slow. Then he pulls up again, still pinning Dave's arms, and Dave actually groans with frustration. 

" _Karkat--_ " he starts, practically whining, but then Karkat lets go of his wrists and slides his fingers under his shirt, smoothing up the muscles over Dave's stomach, tracing a path up over his ribs. Dave exhales loudly, apparently entranced all of a sudden by how the fabric of his clothes moves over Karkat's ministrations. 

"I want you to take this off," Karkat says, softly, fingers moving aimlessly, no pattern to it at all. He wants to feel all of him, he realizes, to run flat palms over Dave's skin until he's touched him _everywhere_ , found all the places that make his breath catch and his pulse flutter visibly in the sweat-damped hollow of his throat. Dave swallows, nods, and then he just sits up and does it, no hesitation. Shirt, collar, cape, all of it comes off in one easy motion. Karkat's hands are on his bare shoulders. Dave tosses the clothes to the side, but his cape is still pinned under him so the bundle doesn't go far. He doesn't seem to notice. 

"You too," he insists, reaching across the minuscule gap of space between them. He tugs up insistently on Karkat's sweater, and fair is fair, so Karkat raises his arms and lets Dave pull it off him. He's suddenly, irrationally afraid that Dave is going to be appalled, maybe even disgusted -- their frames are similar but their musculature is not. Karkat has plates where Dave has bones and old artifacts from past molts and there's no hair, either, Dave has so much hair. There's the dusting over his arms, the light speckle over his chest, the intriguing little bit that starts just under his weird mammalian navel and both darkens and thickens as he traces the trail down, until it disappears under the waistline of his pants -- 

"Hey, hey, what are you looking for?" Dave teases, and Karkat snaps his eyes back upward, heat flooding not just his face, but his entire fucking _body._ His shoulders are probably glowing. Fuck. 

"Sorry, I --" 

"Oh, god, no. Don't apologize. I'm just playing. You can ogle me all you want, Karkat, I'm a visual feast, I know --" 

"Shut up," Karkat murmurs, pushing him back down. He's less smug when he's flat on his back, panting for more attention. 

"And, to be honest, you are too." 

"I'm -- what?" 

Dave laughs, quietly. "A visual feast, dude, don't tune out my nervous rambles, you're gonna hurt my feelings." 

"Nervous, you?" Karkat presses a kiss to Dave's temple. It feels weirdly vulnerable, kissing him somewhere that isn't explicit kissing territory, so he aims lower and presses another kiss just above his ear. Dave says nothing, for once, and Karkat can feel his chest rising and falling beneath him, his breathing growing perceptively heavier as Karkat kisses below his earlobe, under his jaw, the side of his throat, right over his fluttering pulse. Gaining confidence from the way Dave's breathing sounds, he licks a soft stripe there, tasting sweat. 

"Shit, Karkat," Dave breathes. He's holding himself oddly still, like he's afraid if he moves Karkat will come to his senses and stop what he's doing. But Karkat is settling into it, now, the pleasant haze is back, and he feels so _aware_ of Dave, of his shaking breaths and twitching muscles and obvious, gratifying _want_ , there's no chance of him stopping -- unless Dave asks, but that doesn't seem likely. Not right now. 

He settles himself over Dave and claims his mouth, again, appreciating the eager way he kisses back, lips parted, tongue darting, they're back on familiar ground. Dave relaxes back into the platform, and Karkat runs his fingers down his arms, finds his hands, draws them up and curls their fingers together over his head. Dave seems to enjoy this, based on the muffled moan he lets slip into Karkat's busy mouth. Karkat presses his hands down hard, pinning them tightly, and moves his lips back over Dave's jaw, back down his throat. He kisses down his collar bone, the center of his breastbone, and then -- disentangling his fingers from Dave's and moving to grip his forearms, instead -- he swipes his tongue over one of his nipples. He knows from previous experimentation that these are sensitive (and so very mammalian, god), and so he isn't surprised when Dave gasps and jerks beneath him, but he _is_ pleased. 

It's doing weird shit to his thinkpan, the ability to make Dave react like this to him. It's strange to feel so good, so in control, and so appreciated for that fact. But good. _Very_ good. He's generous with his tongue, flicking it over that sensitive protrusion again, then circling it, teasing him before giving any more. When Karkat chances a glance back up, the sight of Dave on his back, skin flushed with pink, head tilted back and arms pinned overhead -- it's too much. He can feel Dave's bulge pressing up at him through his pants and his own equipment isn't far behind. There's already a familiar ache building between his legs, a pulsing tightness that warns him -- if you don't want to ruin another pair of pants, you'd better think about removing them pretty soon. 

Well, not ruin. Defile, maybe. 

Normally this is where they'd stop; he'd feel Dave's arousal (or, sometimes, Dave would notice his) and politely ease away, kiss him less passionately and more gently, whisper in a shaky and not wholly convinced way that maybe this was enough. They'd break apart and excuse themselves to separate ablution blocks and carefully not acknowledge afterward that neither of them had done anything remotely related to digestion therein. Maybe watch another movie. Fall asleep on the couch. 

This time, Karkat presses his hips down, grinding experimentally against him. Dave sucks in an appreciative breath, lifting his head to see for himself how their hips press together. They fit nicely, especially when Dave opens his legs further, giving Karkat better access to press flush against him. Pants or no, Dave's bulge pressed against the inside of his thigh is enough for his own body to give the fucking signal, and Karkat sighs with a mix of embarrassment and relief as his bulge slides free from its nook and uncurls, twisting inquisitively in his pants. Dave is watching this happen with narrowed eyes; he can tell something is happening, but for now, the pants are still on. 

"So," Dave says, and his voice is pitched a little higher than usual, and breathy as _fuck._ Just hearing it makes his bulge twitch with raw interest. Dave clears his throat. "What are we, like... what's the plan, here, exactly?" His cheeks have sailed past pink and are outright cherry red, which makes the little spots that dust them stand out for being too light by contrast instead of too dark. It's fascinating. Karkat wants to kiss his nose, but refrains. Barely. 

He has no idea how to answer the question. 

"I..." he begins, falters. Fuck, no. They can't do this now, things were so _good._

"I can't do that thing the trolls in your trashy books do," Dave says, and really does sound nervous, now. He's afraid of being compared to another troll, Karkat realizes, something altogether too affectionate squeezing in his chest. Idiot. Like he has any experience with other trolls to compare him to. "Like, I'm not going to malign my own junk here or anything, but it's kind of a less, uh, proactive creature..." 

"Oh my god," Karkat chokes back a laugh. "My bulge is not its own sentient beast, and neither is yours." 

"But it moves on its own, right?" Dave seems genuinely curious, and Karkat reluctantly figures now is not the time to be coy about their respective differences, considering, though he hates the thought of having to give an embarrassing biology lesson before they can hopefully go back to making each other feel good. 

"Okay, yeah. Here." He takes a breath, closes his eyes. Hesitates. "...Promise you won't freak out," he says, softly. 

"No way, Karkat. I'm ready for whatever you've got. Do you know how long I've been waiting for this?" And to be fair, he _does_ sound eager. It's... gratifying. "Besides, I know the basics, trashy books, remember?" 

Karkat slides his thumbs under his waistband and gets as far as popping the first button on his pants, but suddenly Dave is interrupting, catching his wrists, folding his hands in his. Karkat opens his eyes, confused. "What are you doing?" 

"Let me," Dave says, voice low and directly in his ear, and, oh, god. His bulge _writhes_ at that. Fuck. He nods, leans back. Dave works the buttons and zipper -- a little awkward from the front -- and gives his waistband a tug, sliding his pants down over his hips. His bulge is sort of obscenely visible-but-not through just his boxers, undulating in its continued frustrating confinement, and he holds his breath as Dave slides his hands over his bare ass beneath the fabric. They're sort of kneeling in front of each other, now, and it's so awkward and hot at the same time -- how is that even possible? 

Dave gives his ass one good squeeze, and then slips his boxers down to join the his pants where they're bunching down above his bent knees. 

Free to the cool air, Karkat feels his bulge retract against his stomach, seeking out friction and heat. It slides up, leaving a trail of pinkish-red material where it touches, and normally he'd never let it just writhe against him like this but he's afraid to do anything to himself while Dave's eyes are watching him so intently. Which is ridiculous. Dave knows perfectly well that he touches his own god damned genitals regularly, why would he care, why is this so terrible, why is he just _staring_ , why. 

"Can I, like... touch it?" Dave asks, finally, dragging wide eyes up to meet Karkat's. Karkat bites his lip to keep from laughing. Or maybe crying. Fuck, this is absurd.

"Yes, Dave, for fuck's sake, please," Karkat manages, hips twitching forward in involuntary invitation. Dave doesn't seem to mind. Permission secured, he starts at the base and grips lightly -- a jolt runs through Karkat at even just this -- and slides all the way to the tip in one smooth motion. He doesn't seem to mind that he's getting genetic material all over himself, which is a relief. Karkat has gathered from perigees' worth of fooling around that humans are much more... dry. Until the end, at least. Dave tries to slide his hand back down, but halfway through this action Karkat's bulge curls itself around his fingers, and he puffs out his cheeks and meets Karkat's eyes in an expression that can only be interpreted as _Well, what now?_

"As much as I like my dick," Dave says, while Karkat reaches down and coaxes himself into uncoiling from around Dave's hand, "I have to say, yours knows way better party tricks." Dave lifts his red-streaked palm and studies it, like he's solving some ancient puzzle left by the smear of material there. Then he shrugs and actually fucking _licks it_ , which is both the most horrifying thing Karkat has ever seen, and also hands down the actual _hottest_ , judging by the way his nook outright spasms around the base of his bulge. 

"Dave, holy fuck, no," Karkat chokes out, grabbing his wrist.

"What? I figured I'd better find out if I can deal with it _before_ I put my face anywhere your friendly bits --" 

"Before you _what?_ "

"Uh. That is, assuming you'd be interested... in... that?" Dave blinks at him. "I figure, since my junk isn't bendy enough for that whole troll tentacle tango thing, and, uh, I'm," he swallows, face taking on a shade of red so deep it's almost purple -- and, fuck, his freckles are so fucking cute, it isn't fair. "I'm not really ready to commit to, you know... I'm only offering one orifice for the moment, and it's the one all these words I'm regretting saying the second they come out are presently coming out of." He huffs an absolutely mortified breath; he dropped his eyes halfway through that incredible statement and is now intently staring at either at Karkat's bulge or the strip of mattress that separates their respective pairs of knees. Maybe both. 

Karkat just stares at him. This wasn't even something he had _considered_ before this moment. He's read about it, sure, but that's just fantasy, no one on Alternia would _really_ have let a mouth full of teeth anywhere near their genitals -- but there is no way Dave isn't dead fucking serious right now, biting his lip like that in obvious mortification. And, fuck. It sounds so -- it's the sort of thing that if it _did_ happen, it would be something special, something shared between only the most obnoxious sorts of matesprits, something that involves so much trust it's absurd, and... 

And that appeals to him. Of course it does. It's -- romantic, in a completely fucked up way, true, but he can't deny the way the very idea is sort of shaking him apart at the seams. 

"Okay," he says, mouth dry. "If you really do want... that." 

"Do you?" Dave chances a look up, again, but the second their eyes meet his flicker away like the contact burns. "I mean, because I do want to, but I only _really_ want to if you're into it, okay?" 

"I am," Karkat admits, because, well, fuck. He is. His insides are melting, hell, some of his outsides, too, just thinking about it. "But, let me -- I want to see you, first." It's only fair. 

Dave licks his lips and nods his head, and Karkat reaches over to do the honors. That's only fair, too. He gets both pants and boxers at the same time, and just like that, there it is. 

It's somehow exactly what he expected, and nothing like it at the same time. The shape had never really been much in doubt, but the little details -- the weird shape of the head, the wrinkled texture of his globes, the fucking _hair_ \-- of course there's hair, a dark thatch of it that makes his bulge look like an actual type of fungus, sprouting from a mossy fucking log. 

"Karkat," Dave says, interrupting that thought before it can go any farther, thank fuck. "You've got this look on your face, oh man..." 

"What?" Karkat wrenches his gaze away, meets Dave's eyes defiantly. "You stared at me, too. It's normal. I mean, staring is normal! It's fine." 

"What's fine?" 

"Oh my god. Everything! Everything is fine. We're practically fucking naked right now, I am not --" He makes a frustrated noise, shimmies forward on his knees, and slides his arms around Dave. Who fucking cares what his weird bulge looks like? What matters is that they can make each other feel good, damn it. They can do that. Dave returns the embrace -- awkwardly -- dipping forward to breathe in his ear. 

"If this is too weird, we can stop," he says. He sounds so fucking vulnerable, and not only does Karkat _not_ want to stop, he can just tell that doing so now would actually hurt Dave, and that's the last thing he'd ever want. Whatever they're doing now -- sex, whatever -- it's supposed to be fun. It's supposed to feel _good._ It's supposed to be two people coming together closer than ever before and sharing something special with one another, not this awkward show and tell shit that's making them both so much more insecure. 

It's supposed to be instinctive. Karkat growls. 

"I don't want to stop," he says. "You know what I want, Dave? I want to go back to making each other make embarrassing fucking noises while we figure out what makes us feel good. That's what I want." 

"That sounds... incredible," Dave says. "Let's do that." 

So Karkat pushes him back over. There's a brief awkward struggle while they wriggle out of the clinging remnants of their pants, hips bumping against each other, laughing quietly at the absurdity of it, and then he's pressed full-body against Dave on the mattress and that's new, and good, _really_ good. 

"I'm going to try something," Karkat breathes, while Dave blinks up at him, hands smoothing up over Karkat's arms and shoulders, and nods. Karkat reaches down between them -- his bulge is still out and shivering wet against Dave's thigh, now, questing lazily into the crease where his leg joins the rest of his body, and Karkat redirects it directly to Dave's bulge. It wraps eagerly around it, and the response from Dave is immediate and enthusiastic. 

"Oh, _fuck,_ " he gasps, hips jerking up between them. Karkat bites his lip and concentrates, sliding up and around him from the base, so that the tip of his bulge can lash naturally against the head of Dave's. This seems to be working, because Dave's hips jerk again and he sputters in apparent speechlessness before he gets out another "Jesus fuck, Karkat, that's, yes, fuuuuck." 

It isn't really doing _much_ for Karkat -- some, since any warmth and friction will do _something_ , but it's honestly mostly Dave's erratic breathing and stuttered little exclamations affecting him most, right now. Being able to get this reaction out of him -- Karkat can't get enough. The way Dave moves his hips in little jerks, up toward him, back away like it's just too much, the way he arches his back up and tilts his head back, exposing all the soft, pale flesh of his throat... Karkat buries his face in it, kissing, licking, sucking little spots into the skin that leave red imprints but probably won't bruise. Probably. 

"I, nngh, fuck," Dave pants, fingers scrabbling at Karkat's back. He's spread his legs even further, so wide Karkat can lay flat on top of him, letting his bulge do the work, pulsing and squeezing and sliding around Dave. "That's so fucking good, don't stop, oh fuck, that's, yes, _that,_ " Dave reaches up and tangles one hand into Karkat's hair, gripping almost painfully hard at the roots. "I," he gasps, pulling Karkat's face down closer to his, "I am going to fucking come," he growls, and then he kisses him, hard. 

It doesn't take long, after that. Dave's frenzied kisses turn into short stuttered moans, which turns into him breaking his lips off of Karkat's and turning his head into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, fingers tight in Karkat's hair. There's a litany of _yes god yes Karkat fuck yes, yes, yes,_ and Karkat notices with a shiver that he can actually feel Dave pulse against his bulge when he comes.

It's only after he's studying the sticky white aftermath that it occurs to him he didn't even think about buckets. A victory for trollkind, maybe. Fuck you, imperial drones. No one is forcing anyone into this shit on pain of death ever again. 

Dave keeps his eyes closed while he recovers himself, breathing deep and even on his back. Dave's bulge slowly shrinks out of his grip, and it's kind of comical how it just hangs there when it isn't actively in use, but Karkat knows better than to laugh. Besides, he's a little distracted. He's so turned on it's a little painful, now; he's not used to his bulge actually _staying_ unsheathed this long. He's had a lot of practice handling it himself, after all. He's gotten pretty efficient. This meandering journey is more difficult to endure, and seeing Dave stretched out in post-orgasmic bliss is only underscoring just how badly he wants to get there, too. He nudges Dave gently, kissing his jaw. 

"Hmm," Dave says, eyes flickering open. "Fuck, Karkat..." 

"Yes, Dave, that's the idea," Karkat says, which -- wow, did he just say that? Fucking hell. But he's this close to just reaching down and taking care of it himself, and while that would be a relief, it would also be a little unsatisfying after all of this. Maybe it's stupid, but he wants _Dave_ to touch him. He wants Dave to be the one to get him off. 

Dave smiles, a purely content genuine grin that's honestly a little goofy in its sheer guilelessness, especially coming from him, but seeing it makes his bloodpusher contract and yeah, it makes his bulge contract a little, too. He grinds his hips down with a little grunt. Not subtle, but who cares. 

"All right," Dave says. "Your turn." 

Thank God. Dave reaches down, lets Karkat's bulge tangle with his fingers, and slides them up and down, more confidently than before. It feels good. Not mind blowing, or anything, but it's Dave touching his bulge and right now that's the bare minimum among courses of action he'll presently accept, so, he takes it, exhaling softly. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, pushing his hips forward, swaying against him. "Please just touch me," he breathes, and oh, fuck, that's embarrassing, but Dave sees to like it, blinking wide eyes at him as he moves his fingers. "Just like that, Dave, oh..." 

"Shit," Dave says. "Okay. Here." His fingers stop, and no, no, that's not what he wanted, why did he stop? 

"God dammit, Dave, don't fucking _stop_ now, I need--" 

"Wait, I'm -- hold on. It'll be worth it. Look." Dave is pushing _him_ back, now, and Karkat lets that happen, sure, anything if it'll get Dave to start touching him again. "Just relax. Lean back -- yeah, like that." Dave's hand slides down Karkat's side, over his hip and onto his thigh, pressing insistently. Karkat lets him push his legs apart, and oh, God, he feels like he's going to just fucking die if something doesn't touch his neglected bulge immediately.

Dave sinks down on his elbows in front of him, belly flat against the bed, and slides his hands between the mattress and Karkat's ass. Karkat blinks down at him, and remembers what Dave said he was going to do a second before he actually _does_ it, taking the tip of his bulge between his lips and sucking gently, experimentally. 

"Oh, fuck," Karkat gasps, the feeling is heat and pleasure, and the rest of his bulge shivers with anticipation, desperate to be included in this intriguing activity. Dave takes it for the encouragement it is, sliding down a little further, adding his tongue to the pressure of the light sucking sensation. It's so much at once. The physical pleasure is good on its own, but then there's the look on Dave's face, brows lifted and eyes flicking up to meet Karkat's and then dropping away almost immediately. There's the little sounds of effort he makes, muffled little _mpffph_ noises, and when he moans around him it sends vibrations through his entire bulge and Karkat mindlessly runs his fingers through Dave's hair ( _so soft_ ), gasping encouragements and expletives that are also actually encouragements. 

It's over too soon, really; Karkat hadn't realized he'd be so fucking enamored of the actual _sight_ of Dave's lips sliding down him, swallowing him, eyes wide and sort of desperate for encouragement. But he's already drawn up too fucking tight, and it feels so good, too good, holy fucking bulgeknotting shit -- _Dave_ \-- 

He clenches, contracts, releases in a wash of pleasure and babbling words, some of which come out in Alternian. Dave lifts his head, reddish material clinging all down his chin, and scoots back with a breathy little _whoa_ , tumbling ass-backwards against the wall that the head of his bed is pushed up against. The _thump_ reverberates through the entire block, and Karkat blinks up at him from the foot of the bed, mouth slightly agape. 

Then Dave starts laughing. 

"Holy _fuck_ , Karkat," he gasps, burying his face in his hands. "You might have fucking warned me you were going to ruin my bed, maybe I wouldn't have been so quick to offer it." His shoulders are shaking. 

"Oh my god," Karkat groans, covering his eyes. "Wipe off your fucking face, holy shit, you look disgusting." It's not really that disgusting, in fact, it's kind of hot, but like fuck if he's going to admit that right now.

" _I_ look disgusting? Dude, you are laying in an actual puddle of pink jizz." 

"It's not fucking pink," Karkat insists, refusing to uncover his eyes. "It's pinkish-red, at most. Mostly red. It's my fucking blood color, you asshole." 

Dave succumbs to another breathless round of chuckles, and Karkat hears the mattress creak as he shifts his weight. 

Or moves closer, apparently, because suddenly Dave is kneeling over him -- puddle of genetic material be damned -- and pressing kisses against the backs of his hands. Which are still covering his face. Jesus Christ. Dave. Karkat reaches forward and pulls him down, grateful to see he's at least wiped his face on something, though when they kiss a second later he's pretty sure he can still taste his own god damned slurry in his mouth. It should be revolting. Instead it just makes parts of him that are too tired and satisfied to properly respond clench in ways that suggest they _will_ respond immediately and enthusiastically every time he remembers this moment. 

"I have no idea how we're going to clean this up," Dave says, shoulders shaking with another brief laughter-spasm. 

"Can you please just shut up and let me enjoy this for a second, first?" 

"Yeah, okay." A single blessed beat of silence. But only one. "Hey. You're... okay, right?" 

Karkat sighs. "Yes, Dave, I'm OK." He studies Dave's face. "Are you?" 

"Oh, shit, yeah. Yeah, I'm. Kind of fucking great, honestly?" He looks concerned, suddenly, staring down at him. Karkat isn't used to staring _up_ at Dave, so he savors it. "I'm kind of worried, though, that maybe... for you, that wasn't as great?" 

"It was good," Karkat assures him, and Dave nods but also kind of flinches. He kicks himself. Goddamn insecure bullshit, it infects both of them. _Why_ are they like this. "It was _great_ , I swear -- God, how could it not be great? Do you have any idea what that kind of thing _means_ , to... on Alternia, no one would ever... fuck, Dave." 

"On Alternia, no one would ever fuck Dave. Are you sure? You kinda did." 

"No one _does_ that." Karkat growls at him, flashing his fangs. "No one wants this shit near their god damned bulge." 

"So what you're saying is that I'm hella kinky, for a troll." Dave nods. "All right. For the record, it's pretty standard stuff, for humans. I mean, from what I know. I didn't know much. On account of the world ending before I really had the chance to grow into my interest in pornogr--" 

"Yes, _thank_ you for the clarification, Dave!" 

"I'm just saying, don't give me too much credit." 

"A strange request, coming from you." 

"Yeah," he says, weirdly quiet. Karkat pulls him down by the shoulders, chest to thorax, and loops his arms up to rest loosely around his waist. Dave exhales noisily against his throat. It feels wrong to let him nuzzle in there, those places are sensitive, vulnerable, but it's just Dave, so he tilts his chin up and lets him do whatever. 

"Are you really okay." Karkat says. 

"I actually kinda planned on doing something like this today," Dave says, speaking against his skin.

Karkat's eyebrows shoot up. "Did you, now?" 

"Like, I told you, I had plans. Romantic plans. There was going to be _flowers,_ Karkat. Dinners! A whole nice, fancy, thoughtful date. I asked Kanaya to help me with troll food, I'm serious. Aired out one of the old suits. I know you, like..." he trails off, and for a moment Karkat wonders if he's ever going to hear the end of that thought. He doesn't have to wonder long. "I know you like romance. I know you wanted this to be special. I didn't want it to... not be special? But, fuck, I've wanted you for fucking _ever_ , now, and you were being so --" he breaks off again with a little _ngh_ noise, and Karkat slides his fingers soothingly through the wispy hairs at the base of Dave's neck. At least, he hopes it's soothing. 

"I wanted you too. I still do." Karkat pauses, thinks _fuck it_ , and continues. "I probably always will." There's not really any _probably_ about it; he knows he always will, but that feels like too much to say out loud.

A little chuckle greets that, but it's genuine enough. 

"We could still do all that, today, if you want. I mean. When I valiantly seduce you later, it might not be the first time, but hey --" 

"You, seduce _me?_ Strider, you freeze up every time I so much as give you a meaningful look." 

"Okay, well, that might be true, but now I've got experience under my belt, both figuratively _and_ literally, so now you have no idea what I'm actually capable of." 

"...Maybe," Karkat concedes. 

"Definitely." 

"It all sounds... nice, actually." Karkat rests his chin against the top of Dave's head, fingers still combing through his hair. His chest feels tight, like it's too full. Of feelings, probably. That's generally his thing. "That stuff you have planned. All for our, what was it?" 

"Anniversary." 

"Hmm." 

"What?" 

"Nothing. I was just thinking about how by the time we hit our first sweep, we'll be who knows where, doing God knows what, and--" _And maybe I won't even be alive anymore, so._ He isn't going to say that. Not right now, in the middle of this moment. "--I'm glad your human timekeeping bullshit is so inefficient, I guess. So we could have this, at least." 

Dave has another one of those silent laughs, the kind Karkat can only tell he's having by the way his shoulders shake and he holds his breath for the duration. "Thanks, I think," he says when he's done.

"You're welcome, bulgemunch." 

There's a brief pause, during which Karkat's eyes go very wide. Dave snorts against him.

"You realize that insult doesn't really work, when--" 

"God dammit," Karkat mutters. "Look. Nevermind. Just-- I mean, I. What I wanted to say, was actually..." He exhales. 

Fuck. 

"Hey," Dave sighs. 

"Hm?" 

"Just say it," he says, softly. "I, uh... honestly? I kinda wanted that to be part of today, too." 

Karkat sucks in a breath. Why is saying what he means so fucking _hard?_

"All right," he says. 

"Okay," Dave replies. 

"I love you," Karkat says, all in one breath, so it comes out like _iloveyou_ instead of something meaningful and coherent. But Dave tightens his arms around him anyway, like the botched delivery doesn't matter at all. 

"I love you too," he says, almost too quiet to hear, and it probably would be except Karkat knows the words he's looking for. "Even if you did totally fucking ruin my bed. Like, demolish. We're going to need to burn this shit, man, there's no hope--" 

"God _damn_ it," Karkat sighs, tightening his fingers in Dave's hair and wrenching his face up for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr [@landofsomethingsomething](http://landofsomethingsomething.tumblr.com)!


End file.
